Inside Story
by Sita Seraph
Summary: Duo is sick of everyone assuming what and who he is. A wimp one day, a bastard the next. So sit down. Because Duo is going to tell what he is all about.


Title: Inside Story

Author: Sita Seraph

Genre: Slightly A/U.  Angst

Pairing: 1x2 

Rated: PG

Warning: This is A/U.  It contradicts lotsa things in the series.  Language. Bastard Duo.

Started On: August 12th, 2002

I've been considered a crude person.  Because I think crude thoughts.  I think crude ideas.  So here's something to add to the crude series.

Blood is a fickle thing.  It cries when you don't want its pity, it goes away when you need it, turns around and betrays you to another; it leaves scars all over your body, it brings pain when its only trying to help, and it's the only thing keeping you alive.  It's like a threat, hanging over my head.  Do what I say, it says, and I'll keep pumping your heart.  I'll keep your brain going.  Go into War and do this to yourself so you'll always be reminded what is underneath your skin, Duo.  Always remember that it was ME that made sure you survived, that fought the last battle.  You owe me everything in your life…I made sure you killed them all.

Confused?  You better fucking be.  Nobody wants to hear my story.  Nobody listens.  They just assume.  He was raped when he was a child.  He was kicked around on the streets.  He was a whore.  A pimp.  A druggie.  What's the new story, guys?  Am I a sniveling wimp underneath all this skin, in all this blood swishing inside of me?  Or today, am I the bastard that beats Heero up when all the windows are covered and the doors are locked?  I'm sick of all your shit.  I'm sick of everyone thinking they know everything about me.  Why don't you sit down and read this for a change?  Why don't you sit your pretty asses down as I sew up my new wounds and dig out this bullet.  Here, have the silver shell from the big 'wimp' for a memento.  Because tonight, everyone is going to know ME.  Everybody is going to know Duo's story right now, this very night.  I want you to know who I am, what I'm all about.  I'm going to tell you exactly what is flowing underneath this pasty fabric called skin.  The thing keeping me together; keeping me from falling apart and splattering all over the bathroom floor.  Now hold tight, while I take the glass out of my face.

*****

My parents worked for a secret organization.

Wait a minute, they all squeal.  Duo doesn't know his parents!

Yeah, well, I lied.  For good reason too.  They were the cause for everything that happened to L2; do you think I was going to tell everyone that they signed the documents to vacate families from their homes, kill children, send soldiers tearing up the cities?  No, I didn't you would either.

How do I know all this?  Simple.  I'm fucking smart, that's what.  I was a special child, lets put it as that.  While I was playing with my little blue blocks in my mother's office, I listened to everything they said.  I understood it.  I understood everything, without even thinking about it.  I knew people were dying by my mother's order.  I knew what guns could do to a person.  I saw all three sides to everything; the full picture.  I even had my parents' personalities so analyzed that I could act like them.  My mother was a good person.  As good as a person who sent people to the streets was.  I mean, she was a good mother.  Loving, caring, beautiful in every way possible.  She always gave me her spare minutes, she always listened to me.  I loved her a lot - I didn't care what she did to other people.  It was my first lesson in life.  Who cares about other people - just care about yourself and you can make it.  Protect what you want to and don't listen to other people.  My mother was like that.  She protected and cared for the things she loved - me.  Except, as always, she too had flaws.  I remember how she never really tried hard enough to get her way.  If something stood in her way, she fought pretty weakly and just gave up without the effort.  She broke her promises a lot too. She would say one thing and do another.  I guess that's when my whole sigma started - I don't lie.  Only lie to save yourself and others the pain.  She would make me so damn furious with her when she said she couldn't take me to the park, or when she refused to buy me a game she said I could have.  I would throw tantrums, cry, and be mad at her for days.  I was a kid, what can I say?  I was spoiled and so when the spoiling didn't come, I was pissed.

I suppose, that if my mother was still alive, I wouldn't be so mad anymore about her not doing something hard enough, or even breaking a few promises.  It was just the way she was; I couldn't change her, even if I got the pissiest of pissed. I loved her, so I always had to forgive.  She was really beautiful; not her outward appearances, but inside.  She once told me that souls go from one person to another when we die, the souls getting older and older.  The older the soul was, the wiser and more elegant is became, compared to everything surrounding them.  My mother was an old soul.  She was wise and graceful; she gave me love when no one else around us knew what that meant.  Sometimes I think that my mother wasn't supposed to be there.  That she was forced somehow to take lives.  But I was just desperate to believe something nice and pretty to surround my mother in.  To make her even more beautiful, to save her from the ugliness she brought with her pen and hand.  Nothing outside of her was pretty.  Everything was evil; the people, the orders, the guns, the threats, even me.  I grew rotten due to the evil I was forced to breathe in.  I knew when I was very young to not accept anything nice out of this world - you had to fight.  You had to be cruel and heartless.  My other lesson; it was why I took up the Gundam.

It's too bad my mother found out about that too late.

My father…I never saw him much.  I don't even believe that they were married.  They just had me and that was their bond, their string, to one another.  My dad was always called out for battle, to work.  But whenever we did see each other at home, I remember crawling into his favorite chair and resting my head on his getting-round tummy.  It was like a personal pillow and his warmth was my blanket.  I fell asleep a lot next to him playing with my hair - always two fingers, his thumb and pointer finger, gently going over each other in and back and forth motion.

No one plays with my hair like my father did.

But since I rarely knew him, I could only record the bad things about him and very few good things. Very few.  I remember when he would touch me when I didn't want to be touched - when I was mad for example.  When I was furious and downright pouty, he would put his hand on my shoulder and tell me to stop acting like a baby or even tease me mercilessly about being 'sooo abused'.  I hated him for that.  I hated him a lot for even thinking that his touch would zap all my fury away.  That's why I never touch anybody first.  Ever.  I don't want to be like my dad and slap someone on the back to only get punched in the face.  I'm a hands-off kind of person - if you want something from me, you'll have to make the first move.

My father also assumed too quickly.  And he would always think he was right, loathing it when I tried to object otherwise.  My father was always right in his eyes; he hated it when people want to have their opinion in too.  I got a lot of smacks for speaking too rash before.  I remember the night when I lost my teddy and my father thought I was mad at my mother for not making the special dinner she promised because she was tired.  I just sat there and let him lecture me about not always getting what I want.  It didn't matter what I said ever; so it was better to keep my mouth shut.

When my father died, I was only too happy to start telling everyone MY opinion and not caring about theirs.

This is when everything gets screwed up.  I was sleeping when it happened; but I remember waking up to a gunshot.  I just stared across the terrain of my flower sheets as men in black charged into the room and pointed large, red things at me - which I found out later were target aimers.  One of them moved forward quickly and just pulled me out of my crib bed - my mother was worried I'd fall out over the sides still.  He threw me on my shoulder and I screamed bloody murder; I could even remember my high-pitched, little boy cry, screeching off and on as I wailed for my mommy and for him to let me go.  I kicked him until it hurt - the things he was wearing bruised my legs - and I remember floating by on this large man's shoulder, feeling like I was a hundred feet above my mother who was lying on the floor, soaked in her own blood and her shot gun still in her fingers.  Her beautiful soul was gone - I wondered who she had gone to.  I wondered if I would see her again.

Then we were out the door.

I found out that my parents were killed for treason - for actually standing up for something.  I remember when I was under the desk sucking on a pen cap that my mother didn't know I had when a soldier came in.  He handed papers to her and asked for her signature.  She didn't say anything for a while and I looked up when she shifted uncomfortably.

"Slavery?" She said suddenly.  Slavery, I had thought.  No will.  No choice.  That was what my mind gave me; I thought about the test tube babies my mother had showed me before and thought about how they had no choice to be born and that they, technically, would have no will at all.  A soulless, brainless soldier, my mother had said.  It was years later that I heard that those test tubes babies did not come out as planned.

Take Quatre for example.

"L2 is a wasteland," the soldier said.  "We might as well make do with the people there and put them to use."

"I will not sign for slavery," my mother argued.  "Creations are one thing, but these people have free minds, an opinion."

"And you don't," barked the soldier.  In the end, my mother refused to sign.  I think the reason she had this sudden bravery was because she wasn't facing her superiors. 

Anyway, I was just a little boy, stuck in a room with men who smoked away and ruffled my head, calling me a cute kid when I shut my trap.  I learned then that all of these people hated talking - especially from annoying little brats like me.  I applied this later for my own uses, as I assume you know.

I knew they were probably going to kill me too.  Why have a useless kid around, I wondered?  I didn't want to die though.  I was spoiled.  And all of these men took something from me.  They took my mother's soul from me.  She was mine.  God, that bastard, gave her to me.  They stole her.

That is what I knew.  And even though I knew I couldn't take her back like a toy or a blanket, I could always take something of theirs.

*****

What?  You want the nasty details?  No.  No, I don't think so.  Lets just say that 12 men feel asleep that night…and woke up with something gone.  I let them stay alive then, slipping away onto the nearest shuttle I could find that led me to L2.  When I was older, I found three of those men during the war.  They're dead now.  Now that the war is over, I'm hunting them - and enjoying it.  My bastard, my lover, doesn't know about it.  He doesn't have to.  This - This is personal.  This is my story, the stuff flowing in my veins.  He didn't have to be apart of it - he shouldn't even have been mentioned to you.  In fact, maybe none of you should know this.  None of you should know what Duo Maxwell thinks, what his story is.  None of you should know the insanity eating up my blood cells.  None of you should know about my mother, my beautiful, lovely mother.  She didn't deserve to die.  She didn't.  She was mine; she was supposed to be untouched by the filthiness around us.

What?  Why did I love…such a beast?  Chu, weren't you listening?  My mother, yes, did horrible things.  But didn't I?  Didn't I when I took out one of those men's tongue?  Didn't I when I took one of those cigars, lit them, and burned off another's flesh?  Didn't I when I killed millions in the black battlefield?  We're all bad in some way.  Whether you kill someone or masturbate when you know someone isn't watching.  Whether you cheat on a grade or weasel yourself out of death by offering someone else's.  That's all my mother was doing.  Saving herself from death so she could be with me.  Offering others on a silver platter while secretly feeding me all the knowledge to rip OZ apart.  My mother was fucking brilliant…

As I said, I don't why I decided to tell you all of this.  You guys don't really care.  You'll just forget anyways.  That's what history is all about.  There is no truth in it, no fact.  Can you prove to everyone what I just said?  That I was happy and smart child who didn't even bat an eye as I sawed off a man's limb?  That, even as I look through this mirror to you, I can see that casual shift in your seat.  The sign of anxiety.  You're scared of me, aren't you?  You weren't scared of me when I answered the door this morning.  You weren't afraid of staying alone at my house while I ripped off another disgusting face from humanity.  Because you had all these thoughts of happy, go-fucking-lucky Duo who swooned Heero off his feet and rid off into the sunset.  Who was the good guy with a smile.  Did you even know what this smile was for?

The smile is to kill.

The last thing those bastards see before I finish them off.

Smiles that kill them inwardly because they can see the fucking joy I have when I see their insides.

You weren't prepared for that, were you?  For the little braided baka to get a hard-on whenever I see another man who killed my mother go to waste.  These sparkling friggin' eyes I have?  This isn't happiness, bitch.  This is insanity.  Pure, HAPPY insanity.  Did I destroy your fantasies?  Did I kill off those sappy 'fanfics' that make me want to hurl?  Yes, hon, none of it is true, but maybe you should get your facts straight.  I'm NOT sappy.  I don't beat Heero up.  I don't like ten million cocks slamming up my ass.  And I don't fucking cry and try to kill myself all the time.  I am Reality – and I think its time that some of you should face it.

Now, get out while I clean up this mess.

No, I'm not going to kill you.

Why?

Because.

Yeah.  I promise.

Oh.

Hey.

Wait.

I forgot.

**_BAM!_**

You forgot your bullet.

**_BAM!_**

My mother also taught me something else.

Reality sucks – no one likes to hear the truth.

Owari

Note: If I insulted someone, I blame it fully on Duo and my Angst Muse.  Totally their fault.


End file.
